Escape your life for a little while — come play in mine.

Trip to Toronto

Posted by Lissa on July 14, 2010

I’m back! I’m back!

Good morning everyone!  I hope you had a good weekend! We flew back from Toronto yesterday afternoon.  Thankfully, the flight home was much nicer than the flight back, for two reasons.  The less important reason is that we flew direct coming home –Toronto straight to Boston.  The flights on the way there connected in Montreal and the mean security people took my manicure scissors.

It’s not like they thought I was a threat.  I mean, these scissors were in a $2-manicure kit I keep in my purse.  They were about an inch long and flimsy as hell!  Also, security hadn’t finished laughing at me because I was carrying cookies, but more on that in a moment.

TSA DUDE: It looks like there’s a pair of scissors in there.

LISSA: Um, they’re manicure scissors.  They’re tiny.  Really?

TSA DUDE: Yup, no scissors of any kind.

LISSA: But they made it through security in Boston!

TSA DUDE: I’m sure they did!  It’s a ridiculous rule, it makes no sense, they’re obviously not dangerous, but I absolutely have to take them.

LISSA: Um, okay.  D’ye want me to dig them out?

TSA DUDE: Absolutely not!  You can’t touch them, it absolutely must be me!

Meh.  It was an irritant, but the guy had a good sense of humor and that helped.  He certainly found my cookies funny.

About that — I decided the night before to bake cookies for my awesome grandmother‘s nurses at the nursing home.  We usually buy them a container of cookies while we’re up in Canada, but I’m much better — and quicker — at baking than I used to be, so why not? Also, it’s a status thing — the fact that Japo’s American granddaughter baked cookies for the nurses and brought them all the way from Boston shows how dutiful I am, which reflects well on her.  It’s a duty and status thing.

Since they’re the easiest, quickest and tastiest, I made my usual PB/Hershey kiss tartlets.  The only problem? They have to be stored upright and they can’t be crushed. They can’t even be stacked until the chocolate is absolutely hardened again.  Well, necessity is the mother of invention:

And this is where Lissa proves she’s not an engineer.  Or a builder.  That whole “measure twice, cut once” thing?  Yeah.  No.  Not when it’s a paper plate one is cutting, and one has spares.  And also not when one is tired, strung out and nervous.  Nope, her method is to cut, and then try it; cut, and try the fit once more; and then cut again.  It’s scientific, baby!

The flimsy cookie shelves obviously wouldn’t hold them in place if the container tipped over.  That meant that every time I went through security I had to pull them out of my purse and stick them in a bin.  That meant that every TSA guy did a double-take, laughed at me, and asked if he could have some.  Oh well — at least they didn’t think I was a terrorist!

The flight from Montreal to Toronto was . . . DIFFICULT.

You know how, sometimes, a group can walk onto a plane and just give off an air of competence?  How its members can instantly give off a vibe of efficient, organized jet-setting?

This was nothing like that.

We lingered too long in the airport lounge and had to dash to make our flight; the announcers declared that “all passengers should be on board” just as we jogged up.  We breathlessly swept onto the plane and settled into our seats, rejoicing that the third seat in the row was empty.

And then.  And THEN. This family walked on board.

They couldn’t figure out their seats.

They couldn’t figure out where to put their carry-on.

They couldn’t figure out how to juggle their enormous plastic shopping bags full of loot.

And when the father finally plopped himself down into our row?

It was kind of like this (scroll to about 1:10):

The REEK from this guy . . . it wafted in palpable WAVES of B.O., killing all life and sucking out souls.  Flowers were dying. Children were crying. (So was I.) We put our air spouts on high but every time he moved — or worse yet, crossed his arms behind his head — we’d get a fresh assault of his stink-bomb and start gagging.  It was THAT BAD.

They make earplugs.  Why don’t they make nose-plugs???

I’m off to shower now.  Would that Stink-Dude had done the same!


One Response to “Trip to Toronto”

  1. I’m so sorry you had to deal with Stinkbomb Dude, Lissa! 😦

    Once every blue moon, I’ll get a client who reeks like that, and it’s all I can do to finish the massage without puking. Then the putrescence lingers on ME, until I can get home and shower. GROSS!
    I think that some folks become immune to their own odor, due to their nasal passages being repeatedly seared by the malodorous fumes wafting from their bodies.

    Hey, the cookies look delish, though! 😀

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